Death of a Bad Apple by Penny Pike

and Nathan Chapman. Meanwhile, Jake got out his cell phone and dialed 911, then called out to the group scanning the area, “Where should I tell them to go?”
    â€œOh dear Lord,” Red said. “The smoke’s coming from my farm!”
    Red ran to his pickup truck and hopped in. Seconds later I heard the engine rev up; then the truck spun around and sped down the driveway and onto the road.
    â€œWhere’s his farm?” Jake asked, still waiting for information to tell the operator.
    â€œNext door!” Honey called out.
    â€œWhat’s the address?”
    â€œNineteen forty-seven Old Orchard Road.” She ran back into the house, grabbed some keys hanging behind the front desk, and headed for her own pickup truck parked at the side of the house. As Jake gave the information to the operator, Nathan ran to his truck to follow them.
    â€œDarcy?” Aunt Abby said, coming up behind me. “What’s going on?”
    Roman and Paula rose from their seats on the couch and joined us on the porch.
    â€œApparently there’s a fire next door. It’s Red Cortland’s farm,” I said. “Someone named Adam stopped by and told Honey to call nine-one-one.”
    â€œI smell smoke.” Paula hugged herself against the chill as she walked to the driveway and glanced around. “How close is next door?”
    I looked up at the moonlit sky and saw gray smoke drifting in from the east.
    â€œFire trucks are on their way,” Jake announced, slipping on his jacket and pulling out his keys. “I’mgoing over there. They might need help until the trucks arrive.”
    â€œI’m coming too,” I said, following him.
    â€œMe too,” Aunt Abby added, scurrying forward.
    â€œLet’s take my car,” I said to Jake, so he wouldn’t have to drive his cream puff truck.
    He nodded and the three of us dashed to my VW Bug.
    â€œWe’ll meet you over there,” Roman called to us. He and Paula headed over to his late-model gold Lexus. Nice car for a writer, I thought briefly. Most of my writer friends had either inexpensive compacts like my Bug or money-saving Priuses.
    I didn’t have time to think about Roman Gold’s financial situation—not with the sound of sirens approaching. They grew alarmingly louder as we drove to the end of the driveway. Before we could make the turn onto Old Orchard Road, two fire trucks whizzed by on their way to Red Cortland’s farm.
    I only hoped they made it in time to save whatever was on fire.
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    Red’s farm “next door” was probably half a mile down the road. We arrived moments after the fire trucks and watched as firefighters quickly got the blaze under control. However, the burning barn looked to be a total loss. Under the streetlight, it looked to be nothing more than a black, skeletal two-story frame that no doubt went up like a match. The smoke was still thick and acrid, and set us all to coughing.
    The three of us got out of my car. I grabbed a couple of bottles of water I’d brought along for the drive to Apple Valley and headed over to Honey, Red, Nathan, and the man Honey had called Adam. They stood on the periphery of the activity, watching the firefighters continue to hose down what was left of the smoking ruin. Lights from the fire trucks lit up the area, bringing the disaster into focus.
    Red looked on helplessly, saying nothing, occasionally shaking his head. A few feet away stood Roman while Paula skirted the area taking pictures with a fancy camera she’d pulled from her bag. I eased up to Honey and noticed Red had his arm around her as if to comfort her. By her grim facial expression, she looked as if she was taking the fire harder than Red himself.
    I raised the bottles and offered them to Honey and Red. Honey shook her head, but Red took a bottle, twisted opened the cap, and drank half, then wiped his mouth with the back of